Bennu The Creator
by Vesperra
Summary: Severus was reluctantly saved by a smug phoenix. Six years later he decides to found a company of his own. Because among other things, he is an Inventor. Meanwhile Hermione is bored to death at her dismal job at the Ministry; Fate presents her with an opportunity. SS/HG
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** _All the characters belong to JK Rowling. I am just playing with them._

 **Author's notes:** _Eventual SS/HG romance. Epilogue is blissfully ignored under the assumption that every character involved was affected by the snake venom. I respond to every review. Constructive criticism is welcome. Enjoy._

 _So, let's begin…_

* * *

Severus opened his eyes and groaned. He felt like he was run over by a dragon, no, a herd of dragons, his neck was just throbbing pain. Strong rusty smell of blood invaded his nose. Slowly his eyes focused on the gray dusty ceiling of the Shrieking Shack and finally memories started to come back.

He tried to lift his arm; it didn't want to obey at first, but after a couple of tries he managed to bring his hand to his throat. There were soft ripples of new scar tissue on the left side and it was unpleasantly sticky; he vaguely noticed that unsurprisingly his sleeve was soaked in blood. That was odd. While being enveloped in pain was by no means a new experience, the fact that he was relatively alive was odd. He was pretty sure he didn't attempt to save himself, even though he had several vials with helpful potions in the pockets inside his robes. One of them was antidote to Nagini's venom he created for Mr. Weasley what seemed like ages ago. However, he didn't want to use them. He was tired of fighting and surviving, he was tired of everything and it was a convenient way out. Admittedly there was a lot of better ones, but he never got better things, so why his end should be any different.

Severus groaned again, then attempted to sit up. When he tried to move, dizziness overwhelmed him; he shut his eyes and carried on. Finally, when his back was against the wall he looked up.

Glowing with internal light the phoenix was sitting on the edge of the table on the other side of the room, looking at him curiously. He quickly closed his eyes again, brought the hand to the bridge of his nose and slowly counted to ten. Then he risked glancing up. The bird was still there. Well, poisons could cause hallucinations (as well as some other substances he had taken recently), however the bird looked uncannily real and familiar. He briefly considered the possibility of this being some sort of afterlife, but then something clicked in his head and realization dawned on him.

"Why the hell did you do it, you, stupid bird?" he hissed. Fawkes merely cocked its head to the side inquiringly. Severus tried to sit up straighter and gather as much dignity as possible what felt like not much.

"I wanted to die, don't you understand! To end this fucking nightmare! I fulfilled my purpose, now I can rest." He gave it his best You-Will-Be-Punished-for-This- Audacity glare, however it might be spoiled by his lying in the puddle of his own blood. He paused. "Don't you have somebody better to save anyway?" he asked finally and immediately felt a bit daft because it was a well-known fact that birds generally didn't talk.

The bird blinked and looked at him for some time apparently considering the answer. It appeared to be totally unruffled by his ungrateful behavior and frankly that was annoying as Severus wanted it to be as angry as he was.

In the end Fawkes spoke only not in voice but in thought, directly to Severus' mind.

 _Your near death was sufficiently tragic for me to cry over it. I happened to be flying nearby, you know with all this interesting action going on around here._ Its voice rang in his head like a bell, Severus fancied that he even sensed the echoes, even though his head wasn't that empty for this phenomenon to be possible. It obviously was not meant for communication with regular people, more or less.

He was so astonished by this, that he even forgot to be properly surprised. He sneered and replied promptly:

"I thought phoenixes only cared about Gryffindors, you know, the brave ones."

 _Just because I am mostly red doesn't mean I care only about children who generally wear red clothes in a certain school. I don't care much about all humans. Equally, mind you._ It was said or thought with a bit of pride. It turned its head and started to clean the feathers of the right wing. _Sadly, I am obliged to cry over some human at least three times in a single life and it always so tedious because it must be someone brave actively doing something brave and wounded while doing this braveness. And it SO hard to find this sort of thing. Unfortunately, you simply CANNOT be nearly immortal without some sort of rules._ _Can you imagine that?_ The phoenix huffed.

Severus was staring at him with eyebrows raised. Somehow nobody wrote these kinds of facts in books about magical creatures, about which he always suspected wizards and witches knew very little. And the amount of this knowledge had just shrank before his eyes.

 _I don't like battles, they're so unpredictable and I'm not invincible, being reborn is not as easy as it seems, trust me. And you were here in a secluded area and alone. Very convenient. Very safe. I like it._ The bird stated finishing its grooming.

Severus was still speechless, an unusual occurrence.

 _So, yes, it's time for me to go and enjoy my master-free existence for a while more. You cannot imagine how annoying Dumbledore was at times, with all this helping Potter business._ Fawkes extended its wings, then glanced at Severus again and stopped as if it remembered something.

 _As I understand,_ _you humans don't have many lifes like us, so I advise you to use time given to you carefully. You can always find a new purpose for existence, and if you don't want purpose you can simply enjoy. Your life is your own._

The phoenix leaped into the air and disappeared in the bursting flame. A single scarlet feather slowly drifted to the ground. Gleaming gold as it caught the limited sunlight. Piercing silence filled the room.

Severus didn't know that Fawkes thought smugly: _Merlin, I'm so cliché, but the poor man really needed a bit of a motivation speech. And apparently, I'm in a talkative mood today._

Overall, Fawkes considered this to be a restrained reaction to the miraculous salvation, because some courageous but not very intelligent humans tried to grovel in front of him or hug him or even kiss him in gratitude. What a disgusting thing to do. Nevertheless, he always stayed to see a reaction since his ego as his feathers needed regular grooming. Also, there were no more grateful listeners to well-timed aspiring songs than those on the verge of defeat or even death. Phoenixes liked gratitude. It was nice.

Meanwhile, Severus was left wondering what the hell had just happened. Somehow this was not how the one pictured the inner workings of phoenix's mind, if the one thought about such things at all. He was so distracted that he hadn't even realized up until now that the pain in his body gradually began to subside, thought his neck still remained a painful mess.

He fought his way to his feet finding his wand in the process. He was deeply relieved that it was unharmed since things would be far more complicated otherwise. He regarded the pool of blood, the second evidence of his near departure to the world of the souls or nothingness (depending on your optimism level), for several seconds and then vanished it.

He was about to pick up the red feather when searing pain shot through his left arm and radiated throughout his body as if somebody was directly pinching the pain centers of the brain. This caused him to fell on his knees with the cringing dull thud and curl up into himself. He clenched his teeth so hard that only a miracle stopped them from breaking, probably his tongue sustained an injury too. Not even his Occlumency shields were able to make it bearable as this wasn't the usual physical pain inflicted by some outside force. The agony came from the inside produced by the magic of the Dark Mark, which was subtly laced with the Severus' own magic. And now the Dark Mark was dying. In reality the torment lasted the mere minute at most, but to Severus' inner clock it felt like a small eternity.

When it ended at last, he continued to lie on the floor trying to gather what little remained of his strength. Then a sudden realization dawned on him. The Dark Lord was finally dead for good, he could feel it in his very bones. He did not have to drudge through being a professor to an endless number of dunderheads anymore. He did not have to suffer regular bouts of torture inflicted on him by a madman anymore. He was free from now on. Finally, he was his own man.

Severus couldn't believe it felt so good. He also couldn't fathom why he decided not to fight for his life in the very end. That could have been one of the effects of the poison, but deep down he knew that it was probably due to daily exposure to a bunch of psychopaths and sadists, suffering and death, and the ever-present fear that sooner or later he was bound to become one of them. Yes, this could rob a man of any desire for life he had left, which wasn't much to begin with.

Slowly, against his body's protests he stood up and prepared to apparate, then he remembered something and groaned loudly, this time not from the pain. He looked upward as if some divine help could come from there.

"Oh, bugger, why did I give the brat those memories? Is it possible that my IQ dropped 60 points from just looking Potter in the eye?" he muttered and shook his head. _Maybe I can obliviate him_ , some evil inner voice suggested. _No, Severus, you can't obliviate the greatest hero of wizarding Britain._ _Fine, then let's pretend it was all the poison and not some soppy desire for redemption. Right. Just poison. But this is going to be so embarrassing..._

Severus was exhausted.

* * *

On arrival to his house at Spinner's End Severus staggered into what passed for a living room and fell face down on a couch. He soon was fast asleep.

When he woke up, the sun was shining merrily through the dusty window. There was a moment of brief disorientation during which he tried to answer basic questions such as who he was, where he was and what he had to do. Then with satisfaction he realized that he didn't have to do anything in particular, except for going to the shower as his nose informed him.

Slowly he got up, his muscles ached from lying in an uncomfortable position for an extended period of time. He cast Tempus and discovered that he slept for more than 24 hours, that was more than four times the time he usually slept at night for the last year. He contemplated this fact for a few seconds. Now, shower.

Bathroom was as unclean and neglected as the rest of the house, but at least there was still water, and soap, and mirror – all he really needed. First things first, he washed his neck and examined it closely. Of course, a jagged scar covered his neck; however, it was not the usual kind of scar. It was noticeable, not because it was red, but because it was silvery-white, even lighter than his pale skin. And when he turned his head closer to the light, he realized with horror that it glittered, faintly but still. _This is what happens when you carelessly get saved by some insane magical bird,_ Severus thought exasperatedly. He knew everything there was to know about ugly scars and this one was not even ugly per say, it was just weird. And it was still a little painful.

It turned out that all his clothes were at Hogwarts, so he transfigured some old curtains into black trousers and white shirt, but sooner or later he would have to acquire normal clothes. Because while it was possible to wear transfigured ones, he could feel magic lightly radiating from them and in contact with skin it felt like weak statistic electricity, creating slightly annoying tingling sensation.

After brief consideration Severus rejected the idea of going back to Hogwarts to retrieve his belongings as it would mean revealing to everyone that he was not actually dead if the absence of his bloody body hadn't dropped a hint. He simply could not face those people, at least not yet, and if it was for him to decide he would never see some of them again. Some abhorrent memories of his time as Headmaster flashed before his eyes and he hastily pulled them back in the secluded place in his mind where all such disturbing memories were kept. He was as proficient as it was humanely possible in dealing with them; however, he knew perfectly well that they would still haunt him for the rest of his sorry life, maybe not in broad daylight, but at night, leaking into his nightmares.

If his assumptions were correct Potter's Gryffindorish nature would do all the things that needed to be done for him to get pardon from the Ministry, thus he wasn't in any danger of going to Azkaban. More people would learn the truth. More people probably would learn his sentimental story and would snigger at his embarrassingly feminine Patronus as well; Severus wasn't sure if his masculine pride could sustain such a blow. Since he didn't care much about recognition, it was best to avoid any unfortunate encounters.

Then there was a complicated matter about phoenix. No so complicated as Severus thought about it. The bird was quite reasonable if nothing else. He touched the warm feather meditatively. He wasn't really that special to be saved, he just happened to be a convenient target for its tears. He understood this intellectually, nevertheless he could not help feeling honored. Severus could almost feel the value of his life increasing just a bit.

In the end Severus decided that he was over-analyzing, and something needed to be done about it. Maybe there was no suitable clothes in the house, but luckily there was enough strong alcoholic beverages for Severus to drown himself in them for the next several days. Also, he smartly combined this activity with watching crappy Muggle shows on TV he found in the basement.

Of course, during his brief moments of sobriety he made a few trips to the local shop to get some food, but the time came for him to really go out. How does a man try to prove to the world and to himself that he is not dead? He embarks on all possible pleasures of the flesh. And that was precisely what Severus did; maybe he didn't intent explore all possibilities, only the most obvious ones. But before that he needed to tackle some essential business.

Thus, at dawn Severus was standing in the middle of the street under Disillusionment Charm holding a small bag and watching his house burning down merrily; slight smile that nobody could see curved his lips. The fire was arranged carefully, special spells restricted its movement, not letting it spread to the houses nearby; and he certainly would be there to extinguish it when the job was done. Admittedly, this wasn't very rational decision, but he wasn't inclined to be rational at this particular time.

Exhilaration from newly discovered freedom faded fairly soon, but freedom remained, and he was determined to use it. This house with all its despicable memories of his childhood and youth represented the essence of his guilt. He hated it, but he couldn't get rid of it, up until now... Now he could finally move on.

Since he could not be bothered at this point, moving on implied to another slightly less old house a few streets away. Miss Granger's idea of using Undetectable Extension charm on a bag to pack enormous amount of things in it was quite clever since he used the same technique. However, naive girl didn't know about modified version of this charm, which prevented objects from flying randomly inside unfortunate bag, for the simple reason that he himself created it many years ago to transport potions without them smashing all together. He didn't bother to tell anyone about it though.

* * *

Quite a lot of people confuse being handsome with being sexually attractive and reverse. In fact, these are two different characteristics and a person does not necessarily have to be one to be the other. Severus was far from handsome, but over the years he became a good actor because it was essential for his survival. However, as he discovered in his twenties, being a good actor had its unexpected perks such as getting laid as often as he wanted. It absolutely did not help to build a relationship since it was real personality that mattered in the long run, but this was all right with him since he never desired nor had time for one. And who said that he couldn't use a bit of the glamour? Perfect arrangement all around.

Also, early on he realized the full merit of his voice and used it to his advantage ever since. He learned how the force of personality and a drop of mysteriousness could make all the difference. People who knew him probably would laugh at this idea in relation to him. It was a well-known fact that people in general loved to put labels on everybody so much, that sometimes it obscured the true picture of the world, however it was comforting; and Severus generously let them do it.

So, it was absolutely no problem for him to find women to casually sleep with in some small bars in the outskirts of some little city. And that was what he happily proceeded to do. Maybe not happily, because it was an exceedingly rare state for him, but with a certain degree of contentment.

* * *

A few weeks later Severus finally ran out of money he had in his immediate disposal. The dreaded trip to Gringotts was inevitable. He was embarrassed by the sappy memories he gave to Potter in the heat of the moment; it was rash decision and now he regretted it deeply. But in his defense, the miraculous beast didn't deem it fit to warn him in advance to spare him awkwardness later.

Of course, by now at least several other people were bound to know about his story. The least he could hope for was that the brat did not actually show them the memories but merely told them in hopes that they would believe him and believe him they would. Their reactions were totally unpredictable, in the worst possible scenario they might think that it was romantic. Severus shivered and not from the cold.

On the bright side they didn't think he was a traitor anymore and might dislike him slightly less i.e. not actively try to kill him.

It was high time to let people know he wasn't dead, it was high time for a couple of awkward meetings he would rather have avoided. As a result, Severus sauntered into the magical bank pretending that he belonged here. His usual black robes billowed behind him; for a moment he had considered wearing a t-shirt and jeans but decided that the shock of him being alive would be enough, he genuinely didn't want anyone to have a heart attack.

He came to the nearest counter, a goblin frowned at him from behind it.

"Good afternoon," he said calmly deciding to be polite for once. "I would like to access the vault number 666. This is the Prince family vault. Here is my key." He put the old golden key on the counter with the clink that seemed too loud in this vast hall.

The goblin checked something among his papers.

"It says here that Severus Snape, the owner of the vault, is dead," he grumbled.

"As you can see I am not," Severus answered still being patient. "You can check my wand." With great reluctance he put his wand on the counter near the key as if tearing away a part of himself, he suddenly felt extremely vulnerable and unprotected.

The goblin carefully examined the wand and returned it safely back to its rightful owner. Then he took the key and inspected it too. Severus wiped his wand with the corner of his robes before putting it away.

"Well, everything seems to be in order," the goblin finally said looking at him suspiciously. Then suddenly he motioned to the goblin guarding the entrance. Severus rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. Complications were to be expected.

When the other goblin came, the two of them had a whispered discussion, then the second goblin left.

"Wait if you please, Mr. Snape," the first one said through gritted teeth. Severus didn't grant this with an answer. He seemed to have an uncanny ability to make everybody angry and irritated.

It was a full minute (and Severus counted) before the second goblin returned with what looked like an old car antenna. Evidently goblins decided to implement some innovative technology left by the progressive Death Eaters. Severus sneered at them.

"Oh, Probity Probe, apparently not all the Dark Lord's implementations are absolutely worthless after all." The two goblins ignored him.

The second one approached Severus and waved the antenna in front of him. Nothing happened. They waited. Nothing happened.

"Very well, Mr. Snape," the first goblin finally broke the silence, "follow we."

Half an hour later Severus emerged from the intricate underground tunnels with his pockets full of money again. He felt much relived. But this state hadn't lasted for long.

He exited the bank and found Potter and Granger gaping at him from the other side of the street. _And here we go,_ thought Severus. As he had predicted the sneaky goblins immediately informed the Ministry and the Ministry immediately informed Potter and his sidekicks about him being alive and well. But obviously not even erupting volcano could wake up Weasley at six in the morning.

The two Gryffindor cautiously approached him. He remembered that he had completely forgotten to cover up the scar on his neck as he noticed how their eyes darted to his neck. It was at least partly visible. Then he found that he didn't really care.

"All right, let's get it over with," Severus snapped making them jump. "I don't have all day."

"We thought you were dead," Potter had the nerve to say it almost accusingly.

Severus folded his arms across his chest.

"Of course," he answered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "and I'm the ghost that will haunt you till you finish that last essay about the correspondence between total lack of logic in wizarding community and Mandrake Root. Remember how ghosts are transparent Potter? Am I transparent to you?" His words caused the desired effect: both of them stared at him blankly. Potter recovered relatively quickly.

"You died before my eyes! You had no pulse!" he announced.

"Let me remind you, Potter, that I am in fact a Potions Master and I was the one who created an antidote for Arthur Weasley when he was bitten by Nagini. Do you really think I have not expected something like that to happen and have not thought it though?"

There was an embarrassed silence. There, strictly speaking Severus didn't even need to lie, it was so easy to fool a Gryffindor. Just bombard him with long words and plant the right idea in his head.

Potter nudged Granger, she cleared her throat and shuffled her feet nervously.

"Sir, we would like to apologize for misjudging you so much. We should have trusted Dumbledore when he said you worked for our side. We should have never doubted your loyalty." She was going to continue, but he interrupted this unnecessary cliché speech full of false gratitude. _Very like Potter, make the girl do all the dirty work,_ he wanted to say but decided to spare them.

"Please, Miss Granger, save your breath," Severus said in a bored tone. "Nothing you say will change anything. You could never have trusted me, not that nasty Professor with greasy hair, even though he repeatedly saved your sorry backsides. I would rather say this was the whole point, that's why it's called effective cover."

All this time Severus was thinking, _don't bring her up don't bring her up._

"I have terribly important business to attend to." _Like watching Monty Python and playing Tetris,_ he thought. Lest they had an opportunity to bring her up, he stalked swiftly past them and apparated away in the middle of the step.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's notes:** _Finally, our heroes meet properly!_

 _Thank you for all the reviews, they really do inspire me and prompt me to write faster. So, don't forget to leave your opinion and helpful criticism._

 _I answer all the reviews. But remember, if you want me to answer you, you should be signed in and private messaging should not be disabled. I'll try to keep updates regular._

~~~w _indicates something written. Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Six years later. Mid-summer. Wednesday.**

Hermione was having breakfast. Her eyes idly skimmed _the Daily Prophet_ while she was chewing her muesli. One might think that the general content of the newspaper had improved after the War, and by Jove there was a huge room for improvement, but it sadly and unsurprisingly hadn't happened. However, she still occasionally read it to be aware of the recent and popular news, hence what her coworkers talked about all the time. _As if they can talk about anything else,_ the bitter thought crossed her mind _._ She was about to close the silly newspaper when the page slipped to the job advertisement section and her attention was caught by the last advertisement in a column.

~~~w

 _Inventing new potions, charms, hexes and magical gadgets interest you, enthrall you? Then this offer is for You! With us, you will do none of that, but you will be able to observe other people masterfully doing it. And, of course, you will have an opportunity to deal with all the paperwork and documentation connected to it._

 _Join us today!_

 _Ignis Avis Inc. Tel. 271 828 182_

~~~w

She stared at the six sentences for quite some time. The ad was weird and not only because of its incredibly arrogant tone. If her eyes were trustworthy, it contained actual muggle telephone number; and she was pretty sure that so far wizarding world hadn't managed to produce anything closely related to telephones, even taking into account unsettling fireplaces with faces made out of fire. The Latin name of the company was also unusual, translating as 'fire bird' in English, possibly being an obscure reference to phoenix. She had never heard of it hoping it was not because she lived under a rock.

Out of sheer curiosity, or that was what Hermione told herself anyway, she picked up her old mobile phone, typed the number and called. After three beeps, robotic voice, with something vaguely familiar about it, said:

"Congratulations, you have passed the first test. Your interview is scheduled for today, 11 o'clock. Rosendale road 3, London, second floor. Don't forget to bring your brains with you." And it hung up.

Well, that was more sarcasm than she had heard in a month, this was getting more and more intriguing. Her heartbeat quickened. The word 'test', especially coupled with the word 'passed', was one of her trigger words, so she simply couldn't back out now.

Hermione finished her morning routine, briefly considered what she should wear for this occasion, then simply donned her usual blue robes minus Ministry of Magic badge. She critically inspected herself in the mirror. She wore little makeup these days, only mascara and a lip tint, since it seemed unpractical to spend more than a minute on it per day. And she was lucky to be blessed with clear, unblemished skin. _Count your blessings._

Her hair was shorter nowadays, just below her shoulders, it was still curly, but not as frizzy and unruly as before. That was because she finally managed to find some special concoction to tame them somewhat, which was named accordingly _Curb your outer wilderness_ , the substance was green and gooey. For some reason better part of magical cosmetics' producers deluded themselves that their products had to have an unpleasant look to be deemed effective. Although one redeeming quality was its apricots and watermelons scent, probably designed to show that it contained only natural ingredients, whatever that means in the wizarding world.

Sometimes she wished finding her inner wilderness had been as easy as finding her outer one, but these days it seemed that inside of her was only disgustingly obedient rule-follower together with ardent change-hater.

After some thought she gathered her hair in a bun to look more professional she hoped. The last thing Hermione had almost forgotten to do was to send a letter to the Ministry claiming to be sick. Technically, she could have sent a Patronus, but she predicted that the sight of the Patronus trying to cough convincingly would have been ridiculous.

Sometime later Hermione was looking up at her destination: it was standard, not very modern office building located in a purely muggle part of London. She quickly realized that her choice of the outfit was clearly wrong since people already started to give curious looks to her unorthodox appearance. So without further ado she entered the building and as directed went to the second floor; she was about to reach for the door from the staircase when it burst open barely giving her the time to skit aside. A young man, also in robes, swished past her throwing his hands in the air in vexation.

"How am I supposed to know all these things? They should be glad I got this hellish device working right! So much time spent on these twisty instructions!" He looked around and pointed his finger at her. "You! Don't go in there," he warned her and stormed off.

"Well, that's very promising," she muttered. And went in there.

 _So far, so good,_ Hermione thought as she looked around an empty room, except for a table with a bunch of papers and a pen and a chair in the middle there was nothing. The strange thing was that it was not a parchment and a quill, and the text was obviously printed; the company did not seem to be overly magical thus far. She sat on the chair and started reading.

~~~w

 _Second test._

 _Choose the correct answer (-s) out of 6 possible or write a correct word/sentence_ _ **legibly**_ _where necessary._ _ **90%**_ _of questions must be answered correctly. Put your signature on the last page when finished. Please, use your_ _grey_ _matter with extreme care._

~~~w

She scrolled through the array of papers and found out that there were one hundred questions. _Challenge accepted._

The habitual concentration mode came as naturally as breathing to her and soon she was lost to the world. It took her several hours to complete the test; it wasn't the most difficult task she had ever encountered, but it required some consideration, especially because questions ranged from potions and spells to some odd facts about muggle technology and anatomy. For example, there was a question about the difference between computer mouse and the lab mouse, or what a remote was used for, or whether retina was an organism or part of the organism. There was one question that made her give an unladylike snort.

~~~w

 _Who thought that?_

" _If there was anything that depressed him more than his own cynicism, it was that quite often it still wasn't as cynical as real life."_ _*_

~~~w

Hermione looked through her work for the last time and with grim determination put her signature at the bottom line. Several seconds later the number 93 in red appeared on the paper and then:

~~~w

 _Congratulations. You have passed the second test. You can now enter the door in front of you._

~~~w

She felt the embarrassing surge of childish happiness she used to get receiving a pat on the head from adults. Upon looking up she, indeed, discovered a door, which somehow was unnoticed before. It was the most peculiar job interview, not that she had been on many job interviews in the past, since after the War it went approximately like this: "Hey, you! You're a Muggle-born, you probably know a thing or two about muggles. And I think I've seen your face in the newspapers lately. You will work in the Muggle department or whatever." And so, she dutifully did.

She got up, walked around the table and opened the door. A familiar silky voice drawled:

"You should be proud of yourself. You are the first one to actually–"

There was a stunned silence; in fact, it would probably need several days of rest and plenty of medication to recover from such a blow. Hermione stared at her former Potion Master as he stared back at her from behind his desk. She was quite certain her eyebrows had climbed up to her hairline.

Snape got over his astonishment first shaking his head and blinking.

"I really shouldn't be surprised it's you, Miss Granger, should I," he said quietly.

"Amm, I'll go then, sorry to bother you," she mumbled as turned around. She almost reached the second door.

"Wait, let's discuss this, Miss Granger," she heard Snape's voice behind her. "Is it still Miss Granger by the way?" She stopped with her hand on the door handle thinking what her next move should be. Deciding to diplomatically ignore that young man's warning and choosing the strategy of revealing as little as possible, Hermione answered neutrally as she faced him, "Yes, it is."

He was standing in the doorway. For the first time she noticed his unusual attire: black jeans and vertical striped shirt. Well, it was far from unusual for a normal person, but this was Snape and she had never seen or imagined seeing him without his customary heavy black robes, which, she now realized, provided a convenient illusion of him being bigger than he was. Now she could clearly see how thin he was. And the silver scar on his neck was clearly visible as he obviously hadn't attempted to hide it. She tried to keep her face carefully blank and was not at all sure whether she succeeded.

"Prof –, er, Mr. Snape, I had no idea you work here, I assure you, I wouldn't have come otherwise."

"Let us come and talk in my office," he replied motioning in the direction of the room she had just left and after a moment's hesitation added, "please."

Then he turned around managing to achieve dramatic effect without billowing robes to help him out and disappeared in what apparently was his office. Admittedly Hermione was still curious, even more so; she decided that in case this discussion turned out ugly nothing stopped her from leaving any time she wanted.

She followed him into the office and briefly looked around. It didn't look like this room was used very often as it lacked any personal details whatsoever. She sat in the chair in front of his desk while he took his seat behind it.

"You are the first applicant to pass the second test," Snape informed her bluntly. There was a small pause during which he leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. "The ad was in the newspaper for about a month now, but barely a handful of people applied and _none_ of them managed to pass this test. And to think that in the beginning I intended to finish this off by interview to decide whom I should hire. Incompetent fools," Snape huffed and evidently was going to continue, but Hermione made a brave decision to interrupt him. _So, Snape managed to infuriate this man so mush without actually talking with him. Impressive._

"Don't you think it was a bit difficult for this position. I mean I had an impression you were looking for a secretary or an assistant, yet there were some random questions about muggle technology and, for some reason, anatomy together with random questions about potions. It got quite confusing by the end." He was regarding her steadily with his lips tightly pursed. "Not that I'm an expert or anything," she added quickly.

"It's called general knowledge for a reason. I was hoping that the average IQ in our country was higher than in Hogwarts," Snape replied sardonically.

"I'm deeply sorry for your shattered hopes then, but our world is full of stupid and deluded people, Mr. Snape," she could not help but say in a similar manner.

"Believe me, Miss Granger, I know that perfectly well since I had the misfortune to teach at Hogwarts for almost two decades. What an ordeal that was." His mouth twisted, and he glanced at the ceiling reproachfully as if blaming some higher Creator for that.

"Actually, I can relate better than you think. I worked at the Ministry for the last six years," the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. So much for her strategy. "Though I admit, it's not as horrifying as twenty years," she finished.

"Oh, really," he drawled. "I cannot see why you would decide to inflict this upon yourself. It was my understanding that Potter's friends should get only the best." It was not a question as such, but it asked nonetheless.

"It was considered the best, for me at least," Hermione said looking at her hands on her knees. _Only it wasn't me who did the thinking on the matter,_ she mentally added."And they needed my help with reorganizing the whole institution." Pause. "In a manner of speaking."

She suddenly felt slightly embarrassed with her lack of persistence in achieving her goals; on the bright side years of experience taught her how to control her blush. She expected further inquiries or at least another sardonic remark, but to her surprise none followed. Snape decided not to pursue the topic.

"Anyway, I wouldn't have some useless dunderhead for an assistant," he concluded dismissively. "My work is far too important for that." The arrogance with which it was spoken, however justifiable it was, stirred something inside of her.

"Maybe then you should have attempted to make a more appealing advertisement to a bigger part of the papulation interested. You can't expect people to read that haughty piece and be delighted to apply. It creates rather bad impression of the working atmosphere; that is, supposing anyone would have survived the initial interview to even start thinking about such trivial things." Her lips quavered slightly as she refrained from smirking. "And why on earth would you give an ad only in _Daily Prophet_ , the most unreliable newspaper ever? If I didn't know any better, I would have thought you did it on purpose because you hadn't really wanted to hire anyone, subconsciously or not." There was a long silence after her little observation.

Hermione anticipated being kicked out at any minute now, but she simply could not refrain from trying his patience, which by her experience was extremely short. There was something refreshing about annoying her former Professor without risking getting a detention. However, he didn't seem very annoyed or angry, not that she was a good judge of his emotional state; he just looked away, and if this was not Snape she would have thought that he was mildly embarrassed.

"Frankly I couldn't help myself," he said quietly with a tinge of irony in his voice. His unexpected confession baffled her for mere seconds. It explained a lot.

"Happens with me all the damn time. That's why my coworkers don't like me much." Hermione met his eyes as she smiled for the first time since she came here. For a moment she thought that he would smile back, the way his face relaxed fractionally, but of course he didn't. Instead he directed the conversation to the original topic.

"So why did you come, Miss Granger, if everything was done so poorly?"

"I accidentally saw the ad and couldn't ignore the sight of muggle telephone number in purely magical newspaper. I became curious, you see," Hermione answered deciding that at least for now honesty was the best policy, she wasn't sure for whom though.

Snape put his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his interlaced fingers; his dark eyes studied her closely.

"And now that your curiosity is satisfied you'll just go, correct?"

"Well, I wouldn't say it's satisfied, more like temporarily appeased. I still don't know what this company does exactly." She practically smirked. Some inner part of her was horrified at her behaviour, because it was Snape, the former Death Eater, after all, but currently this part was stripped of its vote. Strangely he still didn't seem to be inclined to verbally dissect her.

"In this case you can inform your curiosity that even I don't know exactly." He paused dramatically. "Because technically it's still doesn't exist."

Hermione's head tilted in question.

"So far _Ignis Avis_ consists only of aspirations and me." He sighed. "Perhaps some explanation is in order. You see, in the past several years I've been brewing complicated potions for private clients, hospitals and other institutions, and I managed to do it almost anonymously. I've improved many potions in the past as well as created original ones and invented some spells, as you surely know, being acquainted with Half-Blood Prince so well." He sneered half-heartedly, and she stoically fought a blush. "Also, I have several new projects in mind which currently demand for my attention. Consequently, I need a dedicated employee to uptake the task of procuring various ingredients, contacting with some of the old clients and searching for new ones, also to properly keep records of income and expenses."

"But that's later. If you decide to take me up on my offer, your first task will be to write down my every invention with descriptions in a special book, because as of now they are all in different places in a complete mess. And, of course, register my business in the Ministry, I anticipate it will take _some_ time, and find out the laws concerning intellectual property in wizarding England." He grimaced. "Or at least whether they even exist," he said as an afterthought. "Is that clear? You may close your mouth, Miss Granger."

Still digesting all this information, she said thoughtfully after a while, "That's a lot to take in. I need time to consider."

"Quite understandable. I'll give you my number, my real one, and you can inform me whenever you decide," he replied promptly giving her a small card.

She took it and put it carefully in the pocket of her robes. Then she stood up.

"Goodbye, Mr. Snape."

"Goodbye, Miss Granger, think carefully about it."

"I certainly will."

Hermione hesitated by the door.

"Just to be clear in your ad by 'other people' you meant you and by 'us' you meant also you?" she dared to ask.

She fancied that she caught a flicker of wry amusement in his eyes, but it could be a play of light just as well. His lips quirked slightly and then he replied:

"Yes, of course. Any problem with that?"

She bit her lower lip stifling a chuckle.

"No, no, not at all," she managed to say, barely stopping herself from lifting her hands defensively.

On the way home, it dawned upon her that she completely forgot to ask him about the salary, one of the most important things about a job.

* * *

For the rest of the day Hermione was contemplating this unique job offer and the employer himself. Snape seemed different, changed and not only because of the absence of black robes. At first, she couldn't put her finger on what exactly was different. She tried to recall the details of his appearance during her schooldays, but the memories of that time faded as they were gradually replaced by more recent ones. The last time she saw him was at that infamous meeting near Gringotts and she had still been in shock at the time and probably her PTSD had started to develop, so that memories weren't particularly clear too. But she remembered him standing there with that odd look in his eyes as if he was gazing down the cliff at the sharks swimming in the sea, knowing that he was quite safe from them; it was saying something considering that generally they were cold and unexpressive.

Anyway, Snape looked healthier, admittedly this wasn't overly difficult knowing his starting point. His skin was no longer sallow, just naturally pale. And as a dentist's daughter one of the first things she subconsciously noticed was that his teeth were white, still crooked, but white. Though his hair was the same as ever without a single strand of grey.

However, it all was almost irrelevant comparing to the fact that Snape treated her almost as an equal rather than a disrespectful student. And she wasn't a scared unsure first-year anymore, she was just unsure but hopefully experienced adult now. So, she felt certain that she could deal with his temper.

* * *

Several hours later despite still not knowing anything about salary and the precise range of obligations Hermione impulsively sent Snape an SMS. Technically she could call, but then she wouldn't know how far his command of the muggle communication device extended.

~~~w

 _Mr. Snape, I have thoroughly considered your offer and thus am happily to inform you that I can get to work the day after tomorrow._

 _H.G._

~~~w

Surprisingly, the answer came promptly. She could practically hear his voice while reading it.

~~~w

 _Miss Granger, I am positively thrilled with your decision. Please, come to the same place at 9 a.m. the day after tomorrow. Don't be late._

 _S.S._

~~~w

It turned out that her future employer could not only read messages but also type them himself. He was the first wizard she had met who owned a mobile phone and could use it properly, because it seemed that every Muggle-born and Half-blood eventually decided to abandon his or her non-magical roots and chose to do everything magically even though muggle way sometimes was far more efficient. At first, she thought it was only Harry, taking into account the way his relatives treated him but after Hogwarts she discovered that it was generally the case.

However, her decision wasn't totally impulsive: she had a plan. _More or less._ Tomorrow she was going to go to the Ministry and ask for the three weeks' holiday since she hadn't had it for over a year. During that time, she would attempt to work for Snape and see how it goes. _I can always quit after all, right?_

* * *

Hermione tentatively knocked on the door and entered. She chose her outfit smartly this time i.e. universally accepted jeans and a t-shirt. Just as before Snape, in black and white check shirt, was behind his desk writing.

"Your punctuality doesn't disappoint, Miss Granger," he said looking up. "Sit, please." He gestured at the familiar chair.

"Good morning to you too, Mr. Snape," she answered smiling as she sat down. "So where do we start?"

"First of all, you should know that you won't work here, this is just an office I've specifically rented to interview people." One corner of his mouth curved slightly. "We'll mostly work at my house where I have a laboratory set up. You'll be on probation for about a month during which I judge how well you fulfill my expectations, after that we'll see. Here is the contract, but before you sign it you should know that my house is under numerous protective spells, but I have to make sure the thought of revealing its location wouldn't even cross your mind." The crease between his brows deepened. "You should make an Unbreakable Vow," he stated. Hermione had to make an effort to keep her jaw from dropping.

There was a dead silence. Hermione stared at him. But after the initial astonishment wore off she realized that the request was reasonable enough, for ex-double-spy at least. This certainly was an adequate way to prove a person's commitment. She swallowed.

"I thought you needed a third person to do it…" Her voice sounded pathetically weak to her.

"Not if the oaths directly concern or involve the second person, meaning if it's about my property. I can cast a spell." He leaned back in his chair and regarded her sternly. "Unless you do it, you can leave."

"Isn't it a little over the top, tell someone the address and die?"

"It obviously wasn't so seven years ago," he replied promptly. "Look, it only sounds intimidating, but it's a simple request and I value my privacy."

"Oh, I'm aware of that," she huffed.

"Then you know there is nothing illogical about it," he said pointedly. "Why would you ever need to reveal the location of my house?" The question hung in the air.

 _He just wants to make sure I wouldn't babble about it to my friends,_ Hermione thought. _He has no way of knowing that we are not that close anymore._ She gave him a wry smile.

"Fine, if you wish so."

Snape's face remained impassive as he stood up, walked around the desk and silently extended his right hand. She eyed it skeptically, still not sure whether it was the right way to do it, not that she had vast experience in taking the harshest of the oaths.

"Don't we have to kneel opposite each other?" she finally inquired dubtfully.

"It's a little-known fact, but kneeling is optional," he answered simply. "It used to be done for theatrical effect, to make the process more meaningful and complex, but nowadays everybody thinks that it's obligatory. Personally, I blame outdated textbooks."

"Really?" she asked intrigued. "And how many other things are complicated just for the sake of complexity?"

"Quite a lot, I assure you. Our community always rather liked to be pompous." Hermione wondered whether he included himself in the last statement, he should in all honesty considering his dungeons at Hogwarts.

"Can you –," she began but was interrupted.

"Miss Granger, I know perfectly well that you can ask endless amount of questions, but I don't have all day. Let us get on with it." His tone was carefully patient. This was the closest he had come to being insulting in the recent days, which in itself was a mystery, so she wisely decided not to push him further.

Hermione stood up and took his right forearm, his hand encircled hers lightly in return; she felt tense muscles under the fabric and realized that he was nowhere near as calm and collected as it seemed.

Snape took out his wand with his left hand and put the tip onto their linked hands.

"Do you, Hermione Granger, promise to keep the address of my home a secret?"

"I do."

A thin dark blue streak emerged out of his wand and interweaved with their hands, creating a sensation akin to a sea breeze. She wasn't prepared for the second question.

"Do you, Hermione Granger, promise not to reveal without my permission or appropriate any confidential information concerning me and my inventions you might discover while working for me?"

Like an avalanche, her reply could not be arrested.

"I do." And thus, everything was sealed. For several seconds the sensation intensified, the cold going deeper than skin, then the magic faded.

She glared at him rubbing her right wrist.

"As I recall," she said bitterly, "you mentioned only the house. You know I can leave right now." In fact, it was the most advanced non-disclosure agreement that had ever existed, it simply could not be stricter. She could bet many creators in various areas wished they could have used it.

"You can, but after coming this far, are you really going to give up?" Snape asked showing a remarkable insight into her nature.

She was silent.

"Now to the important issues," he continued.

"Right," Hermione agreed still trying to keep her anger at bay, "because we were just joking around with all these idle wand-twirling." She threw her hands into the air, resisting the hysterical laughter.

Contrary to her expectations he just ignored it.

* * *

 _*_ _Guards! Guards!_ _by_ _Terry Pratchett_ _, but the correct answer here is 'Vimes'._

 **Author's notes:** _For those of you who think that Severus is a little mild here, his perspective will be provided in the next chapter. And don't worry, he'll surely make up for it!_

 _By the way do we know anything about how business registration and taxes work in wizarding Britain? If anyone even thought about it at all…_

 _And do you, guys, recognize that mobile number?;) Sorry, I just had to make it meaningful._


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's notes:** _Without further ado, here we go._

* * *

Hermione read on.

~~~w

 _ **Employment Agreement**_

 _This agreement made as of the 17th day of July 2001, between Severus Snape (hereinafter referred to as "Employer"); and Hermione Jean Granger (hereinafter referred to as "Employee")._

 _Whereas the Employer desires to obtain the benefit of the services of the Employee, and the Employee desires to render such services on the terms and conditions set forth._

 _The parties agree as follows:_

 _ **1\. Employment**_

 _The Employee agrees that she will at all times faithfully, industriously, and to the best of her skill, ability, experience and talents, perform all of the duties required of her position, i.e. no slacking is allowed. (I wouldn't dream of it,_ Hermione thought. _) In carrying out these duties and responsibilities, the Employee shall comply with all Employer rules and regulations as are announced by the Employer from time to time. It is also understood and agreed to by the Employee that her assignment, duties and responsibilities may be changed by the Employer without causing termination of this agreement._

 _ **2\. Position Title**_

 _As an Assistant / Chief_ _Organizer and Optimizer of Obstacles / Associate to the Chief Inspiration Director_ _(or whatever is the Employee's desire to call herself), the Employee is required to perform the following duties and undertake the following responsibilities in a professional manner._ (Hermione raised her head fighting to keep her face impassive; Snape returned her gaze calmly, not a muscle moved in his face.)

 _(a) Everything connected to the business the Employer may ask the Employee to do._

 _(b) Other duties as may arise from time to time and as may be assigned to the Employee._

 _(c) Messing up should be done with true professionalism._ ("I think I can manage the part '2', section 'b' quite well," she commented mildly. "Strange, I didn't think you've had much experience in that department," was his reply. It was unclear whether he meant messing up or doing it _professionally_.)

 _ **3\. Compensation**_

 _As full compensation for all services provided the Employee shall be paid at the rate of 354 Galleons (1770 pounds) per month._ (It was a little less than her salary at the Ministry, but not that much for her to complain.)

 _ **4\. Holidays**_

 _The Employee shall be entitled to holidays in the amount of six weeks per annum._

 _ **5\. Probation Period**_

 _It is understood and agreed that the first thirty days of employment shall constitute a probationary period during which period the Employer may, in its absolute discretion, terminate the Employee's employment, for any reason._ (This was interesting. At least she had a definite time window for survival.)

 _ **6\. Confidentiality**_

 _The Employee is to be careful with information concerning the Employer at all times, as Employer does NOT want to suffer the inconvenience of death in the workplace._ (This feeble warning was pretty redundant at this point. _How long did it take him to come up with that anyway?_ she wondered. _Probably two seconds._ )

 _ **Signed**_ _in the presence of:_

 _Name of employee __

 _Signature of Employee __

 _Name of Employer __

 _Signature of Employer __

~~~w

Hermione finished reading, took a deep breath and boldly put her name and big signature in the assigned spaces. _There. Done. No way back._ The new and hopefully better chapter of her life had just begun.

"So, what's next?" she looked expectantly at her new Employer.

Snape took the document from her and briskly put his own name and spiky signature where necessary. Hermione noticed that he deliberately omitted Tobias which, as far as she knew, was his middle name; although it wasn't unanticipated, and he had her full sympathy.

"It's not magical, isn't it?" she inquired cautiously. He glanced at her.

"Not as far as I know," he answered simply. Yet another fact to the list of things that confused her understanding of his stance on magical-non-magical relationship.

"And that pen is also completely ordinary?"

"Sorry to disappoint, but yes." He didn't elaborate. For some reason she felt slightly let down.

Then he took a blank piece of paper and scribbled something on it before handing it to her.

"Memorize this," he said curtly.

~~~w

Merstone street 3, Carisbrooke village

~~~w

"Got it," she said after several seconds putting the paper on the desk.

"Good." He took out his want in a flash and incinerated the innocent part of a tree; Hermione watched mesmerized as the meagre heap of ash slowly drifted down to the surface.

"See you there then," he announced standing up and disappeared with a sharp 'pop'.

For a moment she was alone in the room wondering what waited for her on the other side.

* * *

When Hermione emerged from the tightness of the interspace nothingness and felt the sunrays on her skin, she saw Snape already striding away towards the house that was located on a small hill. The house that caused so much uneasiness appeared to be a small manor; and she enjoyed an excellent view of it from here.

It was built from cream coloured stone occasionally sprinkled with red. The big veranda with triangular Greek pediment propped by small white columns drew the attention, inviting the one to sit and appreciate the scenery, such as it was. There were many broad windows, including a couple of oriel ones, with half circle top. The red slated roof was hipped and asymmetrical; one side of the building was taken by a round tower, a chimney decorated with geometrical patterns was sticking out of the other one. It was unusual architecture to say the least; she had never dared to think that Snape of all people could live in a place like that, if she even thought about his place of residence at all.

Some sort of greenery surrounded the place. As she was getting closer, she discovered that the garden, and that was a serious stretch of the imagination, was a pitiful sight, indeed. Evidently not a single soul took care of it in many years. Her eyes started to catch more details. The house had general appearance of neglect: the roof was chipped in places, the walls were stained with muck, a few windows were cracked; the fence that might have existed in the past was only hypothetical.

At some point she felt a peculiar sensation akin to passing through a cobweb; she whirled around but there was seemingly nothing that might have caused it.

Overall, it didn't look like a house Snape would voluntarily inhabit or spend any sum of money on, more like a house _you_ would have to pay _him_ for living there; maybe that explained its shabby appearance. Then a number of questions arose such as why he was doing this to himself or in the second case who payed him. Or maybe some spiky gothic house was hidden behind this one, full of coffins and bats and sinister organ music echoing from the walls. Her mental picture of Snape distorted even further.

"Miss Granger. Are you going to stay there gaping all day or are you going to come in?" the annoyed voice broke through her reflection making her jump. With his arms folded across his chest, Snape was watching her from the veranda's steps.

"I was just appraising my new workplace," she replied casually.

"And how is it to your liking?"

Hermione couldn't tell if this was a serious question or a rhetorical one, so she answered honestly, "It's far from what I expected."

"I wager you expected something ominous with bats, coffins and cobwebs?" The perceptiveness of his reply unnerved her slightly, but again it shouldn't be that difficult for him to imagine what his ex-student thought of him.

He opened the front doors and stepped aside letting her enter first.

"Why didn't I apparate closer to the building?" she asked suddenly as she moved past him.

"Because it is surrounded by numerous protective charms," he started to answer as he was closing the door. "No one, except me and I have to show you the way this time, can apparate inside the barrier; every visitor has to physically cross the border. Even if you aim inside, you'll still land just before the border. It's similar to Hogwarts' protection with a few differences." Her intuition told her that 'a few' implied rather more than to be expected.

Hermione looked around. It appeared that the interior of the house was only a step away from cobwebs, and she imagined he removed them just before her visit. However, under all that accumulated dust and dirt was a fine old-fashioned décor. _How difficult it is for a wizard to remove dust?_ she wondered. _It must have been enormously hard to wave a wand a couple of times._

The warm beige walls were partly hidden behind the oak planks that extended one third to the ceiling; delicate patterns made of white stucco adorned the ceiling, but the wooden floor was covered with the moth-eaten carpet. Now she got even more evidence that Snape moved in here only recently. Above the main doors there was a coat of arms that looked oddly familiar. It consisted of the shield held by a crowned lion and a unicorn chained to the ground below where a thistle, a rose and a shamrock grew. The shield itself depicted two crossed wands alight. Below the motto _La magie et mon droit_ was written, which again looked far too familiar for her not to remember where it was from and yet she didn't. The metal plate was polished and unaged; Hermione even fancied it emitted a glow by itself.

Directly across the entrance there was a grand staircase thankfully not covered with another spoilt carpet that could crawl away from under your feet with sheer insect overpopulation. Wide rooms were visible on both sides of it, decorated in the similar style.

Doubtless this used to be a pleasant and elegant house for people to live in; Hermione supposed it still had potential with renovation or at least with a lot of rigorous cleaning.

Meanwhile Snape led her up the stars to the first floor.

"That coat of arms over the door… It strongly reminds me of something," she mused.

"I have no idea what it could be, Miss Granger, but you can research it yourself if you like," Snape answered as if absentmindedly. "You're bound to find something interesting." He made a little noncommittal gesture with his hand. She stared at his back: it was almost a direct invitation for her to try it; in that case she would certainly see what she could do. She suspected that he actually knew perfectly well what it was and just wanted to irritate her.

"How long have you been living here anyway?" she asked boldly and received an equally bold answer.

"I don't believe it's any of your business, Miss Granger."

They reached the top of the stairs and turned left past the smaller stairs leading to the second floor. Hermione stopped abruptly and gazed longingly at the rows and rows of leather-bound books feeling saliva gathering in her mouth. The sad truth was that she didn't have an opportunity to visit a proper library since leaving Hogwarts; and nowadays it's not like she could saunter in there uninvited and read for hours. Occasional trips to the bookstores and to a small accumulation of books in the Ministry just _had_ to gratify her ardent desire to read.

Evidently Snape noticed the hungry look in her eyes because he drawled, "You can 'explore' as much as you want. I really don't care, as long as you do everything you're supposed to and refrain from setting foot in my laboratory or my bedroom. Understood?"

Smiling happily from ear to ear Hermione nodded feeling her fingertips itch, barely suppressing the urge to jump up and down and clap her hands. Snape just rolled his eyes, one side of his lips curled up possibly in mockery of her childish happiness.

"Of course," she chirped. "So, what should I do? Because it's not really … ah, how shall I put it, clear from the agreement."

He silently motioned her to the large table stacked with various books in the middle of room.

"I regret to inform you but I'm in the habit of writing things down in the most convenient of places when an idea comes to my mind, it's usually the book I'm reading," he started explaining. "Although I try to get out of it with the relative success. As a result, some books that went through my hands might be slightly spoilt by my notes on the margins; on this table you can see all such books I've managed to find so far." He made a semicircle with his open hand in the direction of the numerous piles. "Therefore, your first task would be to carefully go through them, writing down my every note in some separate notebook."

Hermione nodded listening attentively, bubbling with enthusiasm at the prospect of book reading and notes making. Meanwhile, Snape continued.

"Your second task would be to reorganize my bookkeeping, because frankly it's a disaster now. You may find current records here." He ironically raised a tattered notebook from the corner of the table causing some loose sheets to glide on the floor. She noticed curiously that it was a paper and not a parchment. "Your third task is to find out in our bottomless Ministry how to register a business and pay taxes. However, I advise you to start the campaign on Monday, I anticipate you wouldn't get _anything_ done on Friday since _they_ think this day is too closely related to Saturday." His observation was pretty accurate, Hermione conceded, picturing her former co-workers scrambling to get their weekend plans in order all day instead of doing any actual work.

"That's all for now," he finished. "There are no set working hours, I trust your organizational skills. And everything must be done in reasonable time, of course. If you proved anything at Hogwarts, it's that you can manage your time properly." She wasn't sure if this was a hidden jab in her direction, so she ignored it; come to think of it, even if she _was_ sure she would have still ignored it.

He added, "It's self-explanatory that you're not allowed to take anything out of this house without my permission. Any questions?"

"Yes, where can I get writing utensils?"

"Right here." He looked under several books, then got to the table from the other side, looked under a few other books, shuffled some more books around and finally produced a pile of blank paper and a pen.

"Or do you want parchment and a quill?" he asked doubtfully.

"No, not really," she answered instantly raising her hand mock defence for extra emphasis. "By the way why do you use muggle pens and paper?"

He regarded her with mild disbelief for several seconds before replying, "For obvious reasons that it's quicker, more comfortable and I prefer to bite on a pen rather than on a quill."

"Well, I can't argue with that," she huffed.

"Is that all?" He raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"No, the last question." Snape signed theatrically. "Why haven't you removed all that dirt and dust?" at last Hermione asked the question that was nagging her since she entered this house.

"Oh, I challenge you try it in your free time," he answered nonchalantly. "I daresay you'll find some rather, ah, startling complications. Inform me if you reach some feasible progress. I'll be in my lab on the second floor, on the left, my office is nearby. Good luck then."

The conversation was clearly over as he turned around, once again giving a flashback of the billowing robes, and strode away.

 _That was reassuring,_ she thought looking around a spacious room; on one side of it there was a broad window bereft of curtains that let the sunlight inside freely. By the unknown force she drifted to the nearest bookcase and lightly brushed her fingers over the old covers without focusing her attention on specific titles. She sighed in content. More than enough dust had gathered on the shelfs unprotected by glass though; she withdrew her wand and murmured _Tergeo_. The dust disappeared as it was supposed to. A moment later Hermione watched in bemusement the dust literally growing back out of the wood. She blinked and tried a few different cleaning spells with the same result, the shelfs persistently produced returned to the initial state. Or was it the _shelfs_ that did the trick?

Slowly she gazed at the dirt in the corners on the floor and pointed her wand at it; as expected the lack of result was the same. No wonder Snape's answer was so peculiar; apparently, he went through the same sequence of events. _Or maybe…_ Experimentally she reached out and wiped a patch of the shelf, with disappointment she watched the dust restore itself. _Nope._ A completely different approach was needed, but which? She will just add that to the list of things she currently needed to do a research on and that list was growing with each minute she was here. _You know, I have this problem, I'm an adult witch and can't clean the dust off…it's stalking me… That will certainly earn you a special kind of help._

She strolled over and looked out of the window. A cheerily green field with trees scattered here and there welcomed her meditative eyes; other houses were visible far away. Snape surely wouldn't have any problems with neighbours.

How many more mysteries could this house contain? This certainly was an old wizarding home akin to _Grimmauld Place or Malfoy Manor, the one that was inhabited by many generations and then unexplainably abandoned. Where would that leave Snape? His mother was a Prince, a member of another pure-blood family, who married a muggle, hence Half-Blood Prince; that was about as far as her knowledge of his ancestry extended. So, was this a Prince residence? It might be, or with higher probability it might be just another old house he had bought, though all the clues pointed to him doing it a short time ago._

 _In this case nothing explained his choice of the building with such extraordinary architecture. Hermione smirked slowly._ Maybe the Prince family was as eccentric as Weasleys; however, she could hardly imagine _that_ with their only offspring in mind. Or maybe Snape had suppressed eccentricity at heart that had never quite got a much-needed output or better still got an output in the form of this house; that was an interesting thought, which certainly shouldn't stay in her head for too long. She shook her head ruefully. Time to get to work.

She walked over to the table and considered what she should start with. The answer came to her quickly – definitely sorting everything out. She picked up the notebook Snape showed her and carefully set it aside, in its vicinity she found a similar looking notebook and put it over the first one, mentally dubbing the forming pile as Records. She the paper and a lonely pen nearby. Loose sheets of paper wouldn't help, she would have to buy separate notebooks for that later, but that would do for now. Then she took a second glance at the pen, took it again and turned. It was a standard mechanical black pen, but _Marks & Spencer_ was written in lime green on its side and their mind-boggling slogan _Exclusively for Everyone_ from a year ago below. She remembered this slogan very well, because it was like a person trying to reach around his head to scratch his nose. She smiled. The company certainly succeeded in drawing her attention at that time, but not for the reasons they were aiming for; the phrase was so contradictory that it just stuck in her head. _For everyone, indeed. Even for some atypical wizards it seems. And witches,_ she mentally added.

She wasn't sure how to sort the books; she would have sorted them by date the notes were made since she was quite sure Snape had done all the notes in a certain book while reading the said book, but she had no way of knowing this information and asking the author would be useless. So, she settled on just arranging them in neat piles by size, clearing herself a writing space.

Hermione experienced a moment of perplexity when she found a deeply familiar potions textbook, she tentatively opened it and indeed saw _This is the property of the Half-Blood Prince_ in spiky handwriting on the inside of the cover. How did it wind up in its owner's hands again? Harry had hidden it in the Room of Requirement, or he hadn't. She pursed her lips. Or possibly they just weren't as smart as they thought they were at the time, or their teachers weren't as stupid, or both. And evidently now Snape deemed her grown-up enough to be trusted with this treasure; on the other hand, she thought he was embarrassed by his teenage foolishness, hopefully he had come in terms with it now. Well, to each his own meaning some have embarrassing relationships and generally behave like a moron in their youth, others just create fatal curses and create anagrams; although becoming a Death Eater could count as embarrassing relationship she supposed.

She immediately decided that this book would be the first in line for her inspection. With everything ready she sat on the curved chair and opened it. Age hadn't been merciful to this particular textbook; it was already old during her schooldays and now it was almost falling apart. She carefully leafed through it writing down notes about potions and spells on two separate pieces of paper; there were only spells she already knew and there weren't many of them, it was mostly corrections of existing potion making techniques to make them quicker and more effective. Sometimes it was really hard to decipher what the past version of Snape was trying to say since he crammed his spidery words in little spaces in between lines, but Hermione persisted hoping that the task would become easier with practice. This hadn't happened, at least today.

Around 2 p.m. her stomach's rumblings remined her that it was a good time to take a lunch break. She stood up and stretched her arms and back; when she was stretching her neck muscles, she glanced at the ceiling with dark smudges on its white surface. Then she directed her calculating gaze at the books deciding that she should start her cleaning problem research with those; maybe she would find a manual with the title _How to Train Your House_.

Hermione ascended the stairs to the second floor, entered a soft blue parlour and looked around curiously. The room wasn't the usual rectangular form, the semicircle was cut out due to the base of the tower she had seen earlier. She hesitated for a second, then turned to the left, approached a wide double door and knocked. Silence. She waited. Silence. Finally, the door glowed briefly and opened letting out a piano melody and the sound of bubbling potions. Snape put away his wand and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Yes?"

Hermione stared at him; he exchanged his shirt for a less formal dark green t-shirt, his hair was gathered back from his face with a hair tie, thus his appearance became even more unconventional. Her eyes naturally gravitated to his left forearm, but it was wrapped in silky black cloth. _Why, Mr Snape, is your t-shirt from Marks & Spencer too? Do you also prefer the quality of the well-established muggle brand or do you just like their juicy chocolate pudding? _

She managed not to voice it, instead she said, "Am, yes, I wanted to ask you if I can go home to have a lunch."

He seemed mildly surprised either by her request or by the fact that it was already a lunch time. He stepped back and glanced somewhere up. _Yep, definitely the second one._

"I don't see why not, but if you want there is food in the kitchen." It was Hermione's time to be surprised.

"And you don't mind my eating it?" the words were out of her mouth before she belatedly realized how dumb they sounded. She raised her hand and momentarily closed her eyes. "Wait, don't answer it."

His lips quirked, but he merely said, "Anything else?"

She considered raising the question of dust again but decided the effort would be moot.

"No," she replied slowly. "No, I don't think so." The door closed abruptly.

* * *

 **Author's notes:** _I know I promised Severus' point of view, but it will totally be in the next chapter. This part turned out to be quite a bit longer than I expected._

 _By the way, if anyone is interested, that number represents e constant, the key constant in math and physics._

 **Disclaimer:** _Sadly and unsurprisingly Marks & Spencer doesn't pay me for this sincere promotion, it's all my own doing:)_


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note:** _This chapter contains Severus' long inner monologue, many key ideas and Severus and Hermione's first explosive encounter, so beware…_

 _Thank you for your support, guys, I really appreciate it. Please, keep on inspiring me._

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

Hermione stared at the door unimpressed. Then she turned on her heels and approached the tower entrance on the opposite side of the room; the thick wooden door turned out to be locked, which really shouldn't be a problem for a competent witch, but after the customary Alohomora didn't yield any fruitful results she began to doubt that she fell into that category. All that the spell did was warm the door handle slightly. She sighed deeply. Apparently not only the dust was going to be a problem, unless it was Snape himself who locked this door securely in the first place, in which case she shouldn't try harder to unlock it.

Intensifying hunger finally persuaded her to descend to the ground floor. She turned left and found herself in what appeared to be a big dining room, judging by a long table in the middle surrounded by many chairs; there was a sofa in the corner. Every piece of furniture was covered by some semi-transparent yellowish cloth to protect it from dust and dirt; however, nothing protected the cloth itself, which bore the abundance of both. Hermione gritted her teeth and walked to the smaller door on the other side of the room, that thankfully was unlocked.

Finally, the kitchen, which was as old-fashioned as the rest of the house with no electric stove or a fridge in sight. It resembled the Victorian kitchen she had seen in history books, with an exception of a gas stove which was the height of technology in this place. _So where is_ _the food?_ She opened a tall cupboard feeling her face washed with cool air; it appeared that Snape put a cooling charm on it, thus effectively creating a fridge without electricity. She stared at it nonplussed, only now realizing that she could have saved some money using such a technique in her apartment. However, she was satisfied to find what she was looking for. A little more rummaging produced a plate and a fork.

Hermione boldly sat on a chair without uncovering it hoping that a cleaning charm would at least clean her backside properly. The food was quite tasty, rather better than what she usually managed to cook for herself; the crazy idea crossed her mind of her asking Snape for some cooking advice, at least in order to see his reaction.

She had spent the rest of the day trying to sort out the existing records, and Snape seriously understated when he said they were a disaster; he could not have made it more _chaotic_ on purpose. It was painfully obvious that bureaucracy was _not_ his strong suit. The only consolation was that there were no ink smears, although in one place he still managed to spill the ball pen ink; her lips twisting up in disgust she lifted the offending piece of paper with her thumb and forefinger and put it aside. There were two notebooks with many loose pieces in no evident order: one with the list of clients, the other with the orders; the first one was the least disorderly. The date of the order as well as the name of the client were written in barely distinguishable handwriting, while the name of the potion was as legible as he could make it almost in capital letters; probably showing that Snape got far more respect for his craft than for his clients. The dates went two years back. The clients ranged from some random people to well-known institutions such as St Mungo's Hospital and its French opposite number, Vincent Duc Hôpital; the potions ranged from advanced to very advanced, where the Wolfsbane potion was not the most difficult one, she didn't even recognize some of the names. Overall, it was impressive.

At 5 p.m. Hermione decided that it was enough for one day. When she went upstairs to inform Snape that she had finished for the day, he was just as curt as before and just as rudely shut the door in front of her nose. She rolled her eyes and went outside. The weather was perfect, warm but not hot; so, she decided not to apparate home right away but go outside Snape's protective border and walk some distance along the road that could only dream of asphalt. She breathed deeply listening to the sounds of nature, her eyes rested looking at the buoyant summer colours. Only then did she fully realize how tired she was from the big crowded London and the oppressive Ministry. She walked faster feeling her muscles being pleasantly exerted. She ran. She stretched her arms smiling. At some point a white-haired man behind an easel stared at her in puzzlement as she galloped past him, she turned around briefly and waved at him; his puzzlement morphed into bewilderment.

 _I should get outside more…_

* * *

Severus was comfortably seated in an armchair on veranda gazing thoughtfully into the distance. _Technically this was outside, right?_ His right hand was idly playing with the glass of ice whisky. His thoughts were agreeably slow.

Unknowingly she was dead right about his intentions: in truth he did not want to hire anyone at all; but he hadn't realized it until she said it in jest. Consciously he knew that he needed to hire someone to manage organizational aspects of his business, especially paperwork, because since he ceased being a Professor at last, his involvement with _that_ beast became minimal. However, his subconsciousness was rebelling against the idea of communicating with the employee. He shuddered.

Who in their right mind would see a weird advertisement with some weird number in _the Daily Prophet_ and decide to apply, because it was questionably curious? And who would go through a tedious, intentionally confusing test just to encounter arguably the least likable Hogwarts Professor (except that dammed toad, of course)? And then _still_ take an offer? Well, now he knew of the existence of at least two such persons. He expected nobody at all, but instead he got that scholar who became aggravated just after a couple of snide comments. Severus sneered, _no sport_. And obviously the most persistent of all i.e. Miss Granger. Initially he intended to dispense with her as with his first applicant, and she required no getting rid of as she headed straight for the exit at the sight of him. Well, he couldn't judge her for her reaction since it was the most common one. But then he luckily realized that she was the best employee he was ever going to get, she was organized, almost trustworthy, possessed the sense of responsibility. Maybe she was only a typical bookworm, only capable of ingesting and using someone else's ideas without creating anything truly original, but why he should care about _that_ if he only asked for good organizational skills.

Thus, he made his best attempt to be polite and agreeable with a relative success, but his strategy seemed to be working so far. He grimaced.

At least not all hope was lost for her, considering the fact that she didn't marry the Weasley boy after all; evidently, she woke up in time to realize that playing chess well made a person _neither_ intelligent _nor_ a suitable husband material, or she just didn't want to become a rabbit breeder going for quantity instead of quality.

Severus slowly took a sip of his beverage feeling the warmth flowing down his throat.

He was immensely frustrated with her during her school career. To have everything, intelligence, studiousness, patience, self-organization, and yet achieve nothing. She just followed these two idiots baby-sitting them all the time, wrote enormously long essays full of information she had excavated from various books without presenting her own ideas; without understanding that reading many books made sense only when they helped _you_ create something of _your_ very own, served as a channel for _your_ creations. Yet without her no way in hell these two morons would have survived more than a day, she had made _his_ job a tiny bit easier without even realizing her own importance. He should be grateful, he supposed. He sighed.

It was strange that she hadn't employed her persistence and Gryffindorish mulishness, two things she had in abundance, to find herself a real job, because whatever she had at the Ministry certainly didn't count. He could see eagerness shining in her eyes. Eagerness for what exactly? For the cheerful prospect of working for him? The one would get more eager from looking at a dead snail surely. It was unnerving that he could not tell her intentions. _What gain is it to her? What goal is she secretly pursuing?_

The only thing he was certain of was that she was dead bored at her job, desperate even. Oppressed?

Oh, he knew everything there is to know about such a job. Severus shuddered thinking of the hours of his life lost to the job he hated; all those hours that effortlessly added up to days spent telling stupid children things they wouldn't remember anyway, correcting their worthless scribbles, planning lessons for them. And not a speck of gratitude received back from them. But gratitude for what exactly? For berating them in class, for taking points, for appointing detention? He knew damn well that he was a bad teacher, but the job was thrusted upon him, no fucking choice was given to him.

No, of course it was. _Great, arguing with yourself is probably a sign of looming madness._ He rubbed his temple with his free hand. Anyway, choice is always given. He could have resigned, nothing kept him by Dumbledore's side except for his promise, for his word... And not the promise to the old man, but the promise to himself to see the Dark Lord truly dead, destroyed. After the first War he could feel it in his very bones that the madman hadn't disappeared completely from the face of the Earth; when the time came, he had wanted to be useful knowing perfectly well he was the most useful being a spy. It was a dirty job no one else but him was capable of doing, the very job that made you untrustworthy by definition for a spy can never be fully excepted by either side, which put you permanently in the light of suspicious eyes. You betrayed one side, surely you would be able to do it again.

But a mere spy has to pretend to be on one side covertly leaking information to the other. However, an already complicated job could not be made even a bit easier for Severus since he had to play a double agent pretending to spy on his side of so-called 'light' for the Death Eaters or even something more, because in all honesty he wasn't sure how many sides there were by the end of the War.

He could feel himself slipping into the dark thoughts, well, darker than usual; and the headache was building behind his eyes. _Was it some sort of protective mechanism, heh?_ He hoped it was.

Severus abandoned his glass and went inside to get a cigarette.

 _Anyway, let's wait and see what happens._

* * *

The Ministry technically opened at 8 a.m., so Hermione arrived there at 9 a.m. dressed appropriately in her blue robes without the badge because she was supposedly on holiday. _Oh, Ministry sweet Ministry, a place where you can breathe magic in, kinda._ For some reason they never saw fit to change the grand and spectacular toilet entrance because of the archaic tradition, even though there was a number of complaints from people who almost drowned in them. But someone, maybe even Ministry official, put a helpful sign admonishing caution in the form of holding one's breath while underwater; at least some improvement, Hermione supposed.

Another major improvement, allegedly, was a new policy called _Equality for all_. Except Muggles, beasts like werewolves (even though they were demoted to this category only once a month), merpeople, centaurs, and other miscellaneous beings. At least now your eyes could enjoy a kaleidoscope of skin colours, social and blood statuses.

She felt her shoulders slumping forward on their own accord in a defensive gesture as she stepped into the big vestibule. She had to make a conscious effort to straighten her back, though nothing could be done with the tension gathered at the base of her neck; she discreetly rubbed her damp palms on the sides of her robes. It was her typical reaction to this place, which initially started from the flashbacks of that infamous locket-search episode, then with time they modified into the unpleasant anticipation of another workday. She took a deep breath and strode to the lift in a carefully controlled pace.

Obliviator. Just the right job for her because she was always good with spells, mental charms in particular. _You're good at mental charms, Hermione, you should do it,_ her kind friends told her. Simple logic, nothing more. _That's how the world works, right, my dear friends,_ she thought bitterly. Now she took people's, Muggles', memories on a regular basis for a living, it had gradually become a routine for her; she didn't think about it anymore, not the way she did before.

What an irony. She could easily erase other person's memories, but putting them back, restoring them was impossible, lest the one was willing to torture the victim to near insanity; her parents were a living proof of that, still in Australia, perhaps blissfully, unaware of her existence. She did her comprehensive research and found no answer; in the end she got the impression that the wizarding community in general did not really care about reversing this particular spell since it was mostly Muggles who suffered from its effects. The wizards got this funny notion about Muggles whom they consider to be permanently children or some humanized animals; using Obliviate on Muggles was a widely accepted norm, using it on a wizard or a witch was a serious crime. Even without Voldemort to impose his radical views the notion of superiority was still there, only subtler, disguised, lurking there in the shadows waiting for the next dark overlord to bring it back to the light. The Devil was in the details.

"Hey, 'Mione, I haven't expected to see you here," the overly-cheerful voice broke her contemplation. For the countless time she wondered how hard it must be to pronounce her full name, just _three_ extra letters. She tugged her lips in what she hoped was a smile and turned to find herself face-to-face with one of her coworkers.

"Hello, Nat," she returned the greeting as always being careful not to pronounce it as 'Nut'. _We're all Nuts here,_ she refrained from a mad cackle. That pet name was not Hermione's idea. The woman's real name was Natalie, but for some inexplicable reason she loathed it, thus she had everyone calling her Nat. She was taller than Hermione, she had short blond hair and constantly laughing blue eyes. Hermione usually went with her on raids, unless the need for more people arose due to some emergency.

Hermione reluctantly elaborated, "Yes, I'm on holiday. But it's a private business." She stressed the word 'private'. "You see, I'm helping out, ah, a friend." Technically you could call your employer a friend, even though some people might find it to be a contradiction in terms.

"What kind of friend?" Nat eyed her slyly.

"The usual kind of friend," Hermione answered firmly.

"Good for you, then. Well, you can stop by for a chat later, if you want. Don't forget to enjoy your holiday." And she positively bounced off, while Hermione breathed a sigh of profound relief. This woman clearly had no scruples regarding the very essence of her job. Lucky her.

Later she stood in front of the door, the slightly askew nameplate read _Department of Registration,_ then below someone helpfully scribbled _Do not confuse with_ _Administrative Registration Department, totally different thing, guys._ Of course, she vaguely knew about this place but had never imagined she would visit it one day. She knocked on the door and entered.

The small office was occupied by two people and two desks. A middle-aged man of rather small height and unattractive appearance was standing near his desk, which was cluttered to the excess, and staring thoughtfully at his fingernails. He was smoking a pipe in some perverse semblance of Sherlock Holmes. Another occupant was a young man with light brown hair and pleasant grey eyes alight with humour, sitting behind his own desk, which was clean and orderly.

Hermione turned her attention to the latter one smiling and was going to introduce herself when the older man said abandoning his pipe, "Well, hello, my dear girl. Who are you anyway?" Her sinking feeling of anticipation increased.

"My name is Hermione Granger and I would like to register a new business. Mr. –?" she began politely.

"Mr. Tobbinz with a 'z', the Head of this Department at your service. My mother had a problem with spelling, you see," he explained and then added happily, "And with grammar too." (Later Hermione found out that his first name was Stefffen with a triple 'f'.) The smile clearly didn't suit this man's face, maybe because he lacked some crucial facial features like front teeth. Before she could do anything, he crossed the room and put an arm around her waist. Her smile slipped, and body instantly became rigid; she caught her breath, then slowly let it out trying to keep her hand from her wand. Hexing Ministry official would _not_ be good for her reputation, especially since she suspected it was not her only venture to this so-called department.

"Why do you concern yourself with this difficult stuff, sweetheart? Why don't you just go home and make a nice soup for your husband, hah?" he asked grinning, his breath smelled vile.

"Sorry to disappoint, but I do not have a husband," was her stiff reply.

"Then find one!" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I'll help you!" She cringed wondering what genius decided to hire this miracle of the earth. It was diversity all right. _We have everything you need, sexists, racists, chauvinists, your pick!_

Her lips already shaped around the first word of her reply informing him what _she_ could help him do with some of _his_ parts, when the young man said weakly, "Sir, sorry to interrupt, but you have a meeting with the Minister in ten minutes."

"Crikey, I almost forgot," he exclaimed abruptly releasing his firm grip of her robes. "Thanks, my friend. Do I look all right?"

"Perfectly, sir," his employee assured him nodding encouragingly.

"Perfect!" Mr. Tobbinz clapped his hands. "See you later, my fair maiden." He winked at her and was gone.

For the second time today Hermione breathed a sigh of profound relief smoothing her poor robes; with disgust she noticed a couple of oily stains and considered simply incinerating them all afterwards.

"That's an interesting persona you got there," she observed mildly.

"I'm terribly sorry for this performance, Miss Granger. He is usually more, how do I put it, subdued. It's his new acromantula pills, you see."

"I see," she replied not sure if that was true. "Does he really have a meeting with the Minister?"

"No, but it'll give us enough time to discuss your business. He will wait there for some time, flirt with a coupe of people, then go to eat something, wander around. All in all, we got plenty of time," he explained with an air of vast experience.

"Interesting tactic." She looked doubtfully at him. "And you are –?"

"David Bowman, Assistant," he said proudly. He stood up and extended his hand smiling; his handshake was pleasant, his hands were pleasantly warm. Hermione peered at him. David seemed to be around her age, maybe slightly taller than her; his face was quite bland and forgettable, he was dressed in the usual Ministry robes.

"So, only Mr. Tobbinz and you work here?" she asked nonchalantly.

"Yes," he nodded. Hermione arrived here with fairly low expectations, now she had to calibrate them meaning lower them; then she thought over it again and lowered them even more. "I'll explain you everything" David continued enthusiastically. "Please, take a seat, Miss Granger."

And he really did explain everything, very concisely. There were two options: limited company or partnership, the only apparent difference was that a partnership was owned by at least two people. The company should have its separate finances, list of rules and regulations, payroll, registered address and name; the financial and accounting records as well as record of the company itself should be kept in order. He promptly supplied her with registration papers (well, parchments) and forms which the owner should fill in and put his magical signature imprinting his magic's unique trace.

"You should also carefully consider the company's name and trademark. Note that Latin names are on the peak of popularity now, so I wouldn't recommend using Latin words in the name since virtually everything you'd think of would be unoriginal," David finished.

Hermione had a sinking feeling of lead being dropped at the bottom of her stomach.

"What about _Ignis Avis,_ Mr. Bowman _?_ " she inquired hesitantly, then bit into her lower lip.

"It sounds vaguely familiar," he replied rubbing his nose. "I'll check." He went to the large cabinet in the corner of the room and started thumbing the pieces of parchments neatly stacked in there. After a minute he informed her, "We already have three small businesses with the name like that. Ah, and look at that," he pointed something at the parchment he was holding, "they all have some form of the phoenix as a trademark. So unoriginal. How little imagination people have these days. But I suppose they believe the creature will bring them good luck, another ludicrous superstition of uneducated folks." David shook his head in contempt, then looked at her and smiled slightly laughter dancing in his pleasant grey eyes.

"Don't look so scared, Miss Granger. You didn't seriously consider a _phoenix_ reference, did you?" he asked incredulously.

She cleared her throat looking away.

"No, but my, amm, my friend did."

"Then tell your friend that even a rock can think of something better." His smile grew smug.

Hermione fingered her collar anxiously thinking, _I certainly won't recite that to, amm, my friend_.

"Anyway, what about taxes?" she asked changing the unnerving topic.

"Taxes?" he repeated rubbing his nose again. "Oh, you mean the gold the one, who produces goods and services in our country, pays to the Ministry to tirelessly organize and develop our wonderful society?" She couldn't tell if he was being ironic.

"Yes, along these lines."

"Then you probably mean a tribute," David said pointedly. Synonym, almost but not quite.

"Probably."

"I'll explain everything." He clapped his hands in the excitement of another explanation, though there was really not a lot of it. The company just paid a set percentage of the income. It turned out, surprisingly, that there was a special Tribute Department that managed the 'tribute', but it was just the Department of Registration under a different name. It was a wonder that the Ministry didn't have a continuous problem with financing, one of its few merits; no doubt because of the hard and unrecognized work of David Bowman.

"What about VAT?"

"The what?" Nose rub.

"Never mind."

On her way out the least desirable event took place: Mr. Tobbinz returned.

"Crikey, are you leaving already, my fair maiden?" Hermione did not dignify this with an answer.

"But I didn't have a chance to talk with you! Don't forget to find a husband, you don't wanna end up becoming a spinster!" he continued to say to her retreating back. As she was approaching the lift, she heard the final accord, "Your clock is ticking! Tick, tick!"

 _Acromantula pills, indeed_ , she though in exasperation, her nails digging into her palms. _I should get a compensation for this obnoxiousness._

As the lift doors were closing she saw a red-faced David ushering the Head of the Department inside the Office.

* * *

On her arrival to the house Hermione immediately went up to Snape's lab, assuming by default that he was there, to relate him everything she had found out from her exploratory trip to the Ministry. Naturally he was there and without further preamble they descended to the Library and took seats at now impeccably immaculate table. He listened attentively; the 'tribute' caused him to raise an eyebrow but to her disappointment he didn't comment, merely shook his head in a resigned fashion. As he was going through the forms Hermione observed him covertly trying to read his mood with no apparent success; his impassive face was unobscured by his hair gathered back with a simple black hair tie, he was dressed as casually as before, his left forearm was still wrapped in silky black band.

Snape finished reading and finally glanced up at three brand new notebooks lying in the centre of the table. Slowly he took the first one, Slytherin green in colour it was. He looked up at her with an arched eyebrow, she kept her face perfectly blank. He took the second one which was the same as the first one, and the third one at last. Hermione held her breath for his unpredicted reaction. _This_ notebook was custom made; she had spent time and effort and extra money to persuade the designer to make it in less than a week. She wasn't sure why she did it especially not knowing the outcome, but when the idea sprang to her mind she just couldn't dispense with it. On the dark green leather cover the yellow gleaming words _A satisfied customer — we should have him stuffed!_ were engraved and below the _Fawlty towers_ in darker yellow. There was what seemed like an overly extended silence during which she tried not to squirm in her chair.

He looked up, his eyes crinkled as he spoke, "I must say, Miss Granger, this is very spot on. This show was my first interaction with the television and I remember it vividly. Although I didn't know you had an interest in such trivial things." His eyes were glinting.

She smiled hesitantly surprised at his knowledge of the old Muggle TV programme. "I can say the same about you, Mr. Snape. But the quote seemed oddly suitable."

"Indeed," he agreed bushing the cover with his fingertips. As a child she used to watch it with her parents, it was the time spent peacefully together, though there were some jokes the meaning of which she got only years later. The familiar feelings of sorrow and guilt rose in her chest as she thought about her childhood; she suppressed them firmly as she usually did.

Thus encouraged, Hermione cleared her throat deciding it was a high time to start with the most difficult part. "Now there is a matter with the name of your company," she began in the same business-like tone she used before.

His posture remained absolutely the same, but something in his eyes abruptly shut down and once again they were as expressionless as ever. _Dear me, that's how Occlumency looks from the outside_ , she thought inanely.

"What about the name?" Snape asked calmly, but she could already sense the warning in his voice. He put the notebooks at their initial position. "It's _Ignis Avis_ , the end of story."

"I don't think it's that easy." Her cautious reply caused him to raise an eyebrow in suspicion.

"You see, I was informed that there are already three companies with this name and they also have a phoenix for a trademark," she elaborated with the volume of her voice gradually decreasing and his expression becoming grimmer. "Some say it's for luck, but I'm sure you don't believe in that," she added trying to remedy the situation. It hadn't worked.

"Well, in _that_ case, I really don't care," he drawled, his eyes turned to slits for a moment.

"But the name _has_ to be original. It's the face of the company, its very first representation; the first line of attack so to speak," she insisted gathering up her courage. "If the name isn't unique, clients might confuse it, worse than that the Ministry itself might confuse it too. And don't tell me it's the subtle reference for phoenix."

"What it's the reference to is not your business, and I don't recall the part in the contract saying that your exceedingly wise opinion counted here," he replied.

"It's also not desirable to have the word 'fire', doesn't matter in what language, in the name of the company which deals mainly with potions. People might get the wrong idea about, ah, the quality of the products," she insisted trying to present reasonable arguments.

"You overestimate the average person's knowledge of Latin, Granger, to whom it would be just two nice sounding words," Snape huffed scowling at her.

"People are no logs either, Snape, they can easily look it up in the dictionary. Also, you don't want a name they would forget after two seconds because it's too foreign. I never thought you're the one to choose sublimity over efficiency anyway."

"Tell me about sublimity, you Gryffindors must know all about it," he bit back finally losing the remains of his patience, his words clad in sarcasm. "What with killing basilisks with ancient swords and witlessly, and of course selflessly, charging to save some useless criminal endangering the security of the whole organization which was just trying to get you safely through puberty." His voice was becoming quieter and quieter until she had to strain her ears to hear him. She stared at him with her mouth slightly open at that 180 degrees change of the argument. Was he attempting to distract her? Well, she refused to be distracted.

"Why is that name so important to you, Snape, that you'd rather see your own business suffer than think of another one? Problem with imagination?" She regretted the rash words as soon as they were out of her mouth.

His lips thinned, his eyes became slits, and he hissed, "I assure you, Granger, I'm not the one with impaired imagination here. So, do not presume to understand everything, insufferable know-it-all." Her eyes widened, she was stunned into silence but not for long. At one time that remark would have made her cry, now she was just angry. It was far from the most insulting thing she had been called; in fact, it seemed ridiculously childish compared to Mudblood or some explicitly inventive terms Muggles, distressed with close touch of magic, could use freely.

"Oh, so we're back to basics, aren't we? Name calling. Well, I'm not going to participate in that. By the way it's quite unfair of you to accuse me of that. You're no worse a bookworm than I am, and don't even try to deny it."

"Yes, but I use that knowledge I receive differently. You just pile it up in your mind with no apparent purpose," he sneered.

"Sorry, I am unable do the brilliant things you do, genius. In fact, why are you even arguing with me about the name of _your_ company?" she asked indignantly. "By Jove you could just write it down right now. Go on, do it, don't be shy," she recklessly baited. His teeth bared in the expression that had nothing to do with a smile. _Amazing whiteness_ , she wondered absurdly, _he must have visited some talented American dentist._

Strangely they were still seated at the table, nobody attempted to stand up and gesticulate to emphasize the point; and the volume of the argument only decreased with time. Her hands were clasped on her lap, her back rigid.

Snape lifted his right hand to reach for the forms but was unable to because it tremored, he looked at the offending limb apparently like her only now noticing the problem. He clenched and unclenched his hand forcibly; however, it didn't remedy the situation, the tremors continued. He lifted his other hand which also tremored. His jaw worked, he glared at her accusingly as it was her fault. She just stared at him with her hand over her mouth not knowing how to react.

"We'll talk later," he muttered through gritted teeth, then stood up abruptly and strode away with his hands clenched.

In the reassuring silence she breathed deeply trying to calm down. Slowly she put her elbows on the table and put her forehead in her cupped hands. _Well, that was one piece of honest conversation that_ _went… precisely as expected,_ was her last thought before she attempted to empty her mind.

* * *

 **Author's note:** _Well, I hope you enjoyed it._


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